


Thief

by 13atoms (2Atoms)



Category: The Great (2020), The Greeat (Hulu)
Genre: Angst, Cunnilingus, F/M, First Time, Fluff, Fuck it everything, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-05
Updated: 2020-06-05
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:00:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24556570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/2Atoms/pseuds/13atoms
Summary: Having snuck into the palace under a false name, you found yourself wanting more than just the money you’d intended to steal. Suddenly, there was an aristocrat on your wishlist too. A jab from Peter sets up your last night with Orlo to be a magical one.
Relationships: Count Orlo / Reader, Count Orlo x Reader
Comments: 5
Kudos: 39





	Thief

“Have you really never eaten a woman’s pussy, Orlo? What a sad, flavourless life you lead.”

You smothered a laugh, sitting up straight and joining in polite smiles as the emperor spoke. Around him an uproar of laughter began, while the Count fumbled his cutlery. Even Catherine beside him cracked a smile. Orlo’s eyes flickered to yours for a mere second, before returning to his plate.

In that mere second, you shot him a wink.

Your relationship was new, and far too controversial to be exposed in such a public setting. The daughter of an old wealthy Russian family had a considerable reputation to uphold, after all.

And you would too, if you weren’t lying.

Count Orlo had been the first person who caught you, his knowledge of the kingdom unparalleled in all of Peter’s advisors. Happily he’d been sympathetic to your aims, and aided you in fitting in. He’d even offered you stay in a guest apartments, across the corridor from his own.

Generous. And easy to creep across the corridor to.

The emperor caught your attention, speaking to you.

“He really ought to try it, quite excellent, is it not?”

“Well, certainly to receive, it is!”

“Are you volunteering?”

A ripple of laughter passed around the room, and you grinned along with it. Saving face.

“Heavens, no!”

Ouch. You’d make it up to him.

“Can you imagine?” Peter was joking, bantering back and forth with those insufferable yes-men he paraded around with.

You couldn’t meet Orlo’s eye, even though he was right opposite you at the table. You ate the rich food without looking his way again, following the conversation left and right, but never ahead.

The man was never much good at concealing his hurt.

After a short bout of dancing, giggling with men of the court and even with Peter, you slipped away to your chambers. And then, free of your corset, to Orlo’s apartments.

He was sat in the corner he frequented for reading, still fully dressed, the dim light casting the rest of the room in shadow. His face looked more haunted than ever, these days. Sunken with shadows which belied how little sleep he was getting, how much stress he was under.

Orlo barely acknowledged your arrival, and you knew he was uspet.

“I thought you might never get free,” he grunted, book in hand.

You refused to apologise.

“You know I have to do whatever I can to keep favour. I’m not in an ideal position, here.”

You took a seat straddling his lap, and he grumbled as he wrenched the book free from between your bodies, setting it safely on his side table.

“I need to keep favour,” you reminded him.

“I know.”

He fell silent for a moment. You wished you could see into that head of his, understand the mile-a-minute thoughts he had. In moods like the one he had adopted today, his overthinking rarely got him anywhere positive.

You tried to grind down on his lap, wriggling to distract him, but his hands stilled your hips.

“I was thinking about it, you know. I’m the convenient person to seduce. For you. I would have made the same move.”

He wouldn’t meet your eyes, words a little mumbled as he started down at the papers on his desk as though they might hold answers for him. His suspicions were old news to you now, and you let them hold very little water.

“What a clever coincidence, then, that I like you so much.”

You leant forwards again, your skirts cushioning your body against him, hoping you might arouse him beyond this ridiculous self-flagellation he liked to indulge in. He was silent a moment longer, unresponsive to your advances. As you leant forward to kiss him, he leant away. His mind hadn’t moved on from whatever pit of anxiety he had dug himself into whilst you had been schmoozing.

“I would be the easiest too. _Desperate._ Far more willing to lap up attention than the rest of them.”

“I wouldn’t know. You are the only one I want to give attention to.”

“Is that really true?”

Orlo’s skin wasn’t as thick as he claimed. You knew the impact Peter’s words had on him, the insecurity he hated himself for.

“Of course. I’m sorry, for earlier.” You bit at his ear lobe, licking down his neck to follow up. “You are far too handsome to be bullied like that. Cleverer than those dull bastards too.”

He hardened underneath you, and you ground against him lightly, feigning innocence as his breath shuddered.

“In my defence, you have never eaten my pussy.” You whispered in his ear, as though you might be overheard.

Christ knows what his manservant thought.

You felt Orlo shudder.

“An oversight.”

“Would you even know how?” You teased.

It was cruel, to pull on his inexperience like that. It unravelled him quickly.

“I am a rather fast learner.”

“In matters of philosophy, politics, science? Perhaps.”

You leant forwards, letting your breath fall on his neck, knowing how he basked in praise and bristled when confronted. He was finally hardening beneath you.

“But your tongue might not be so quick in the art of pleasure _._ ”

With a groan he shoved you off him, and you moved to the bed, hiking up your skirts in anticipation for him. Instead of climbing onto you he sank onto the mattress on his stomach, and you grinned down at him.

“You want to try, then.”

“I don’t want to try, I’m _going to_ eat your pussy,” he grunted.

You let your legs fall open, pleasantly surprised as he tugged your underskirts harshly out of the way, clearing a path for himself with confidence. Then he froze. For a moment you thought he’d run, or give up. You could only imagine what he was telling himself, how his self-inflicted idea of his own inadequacies would be torturing him. You shifted, moving to give him an easier, and he snapped back into motion. He looked so pretty, lowering himself to lie between your legs, looking up at your face repeatedly with poorly concealed insecurity.

“Tell me. Tell me if I’m doing it right.” His attempts to be commanding broke a little, and you felt nothing but fondness for his nervousness.

“I will, always.” You promised. “And if your clever mouth is anything to go by, I suspect you will be fine.”

The Count smiled as you stroked his arm, where it was holding your thigh down, and ducked his head closer to your cunt.

“Thank you.”

He was close enough to smell you, to see how wet you were for him, and it seemed to be the confidence boost he needed to lick at you. Small, quick, like a kitten might lick at a saucer of milk. Pleasant, but underwhelming. The assuredness to experiment took him time to develop, but suddenly his stroke changed.

You groaned as he parted you with his tongue, and he heard, his technique improving. He tasted you and toyed with you, making you clench as he worked his tongue inside your entrance. You propped yourself up to watch him and couldn’t conceal a groan as his eyes met yours, face wet with your arousal.

“Suck. Suck on me…” You guided his head to where you wanted, crying out as his lips met where you ached for him most.

Your hand sought his out, and felt him grip it tightly, an anchor as he nervously ventured into new territory.

Tense pleasure built in your core, and you whined as he tried to move his lips from your clit, shoving his head back with one hand in his hair.

“Stay there,” you panted. “Don’t change.”

He mumbled something back against you, and you whined and writhed at the feeling. He got the hint, and within seconds you were climaxing, crying out for him to _keep doing that, please, god, Orlo._

"Fuck, I love you."

That pattern, pressure, stayed on you until you couldn’t stand it anymore, pushing his head away and feeling a little remorseful for not being more communicative with you. Orlo seemed perfectly happy, though, grinning with his head resting on your inner thigh, stretching out his jaw.

You rolled your eyes. With a tug of your joined hands you had him laying beside you, kissing the taste of yourself off his lips. He was still hard against your thigh, confined by his trousers, and you felt his posture stiffen as you moaned through the kiss.

“Now, you can be certain that the Emperor is wrong about _all_ of your inexperience.”

He chuckled.

“Please don’t mention him in my bed, love.”

You could see his happiness nonetheless, his languid smile and the pride rolling off him.

“You were really good,” you promised. “Perfect.”

“I learnt eventually. I would like more practice, though.”

“Hm,” you moaned, stretching out against his body. “Any time you wish it.”

To sensitive to take him inside of you, you finished Orlo with quick fingers and your tongue, delighting in the fabulous noises you could wring out of him with his trousers around his ankles.

It always made your heart swell with fondness for him, how he clung to you in the aftermath, and always thanked you. You’d given up telling him sex wasn’t a favour, something he owed you for, he wouldn’t stop being grateful either way.

With regret, you pulled him close to your chest, and whispered in his ear.

“I need to leave.”

On some level, he must have expected this. Nothing was permanent in this mad house. You weren’t hanging around to be caught.

“No one suspects you! You can stay.”

“I would really love to, this world is so _bright_. _Exciting._ But it is dangerous, too.”

“The danger suits you,” he insisted, lifting the covers so the two of you could keep warm beneath them. You kicked your clothes to the floor, alongside Orlo’s, hoping the maids wouldn’t gossip if they found them during the night. “You thrive here.”

“I cannot continue to pretend to be a lady of nobility, not indefinitely.”

Your words were sad, and you hated having to say them. But your mind was made up. You had to set Orlo free, and you had to take what you could and run. Your small pickpocketed collection, plus whatever funds you could wring from the Emperor, would set you up in the rural provinces for a lifetime. A humble lifetime, but a safe one nonetheless.

“You do have one tell, my dear.” He whispered.

“Hm?”

“You are far too much fun to be a real lady.”

You snorted, letting your hand ghost down his naked chest.

“I could learn to be dull, I suppose.”

“Please never do that,” Orlo insisted. His conviction surprised you. Delighted you a little, in honesty. “I don’t think I could bear it.”

Humming in consideration, you wished you could do what he wanted. Be the woman he wanted. You rolled onto your side, missing his body heat as you put some distance between yourself and the man you were sharing a bed with.

He knew the answer was _no_.

“You said you loved me,” he reminded you. The tears welling in his eyes infuriated you in equal measure to how much they broke your heart.

“While you had your tongue in my cunt. It was an easy mistake to make.”

Cruelty would make this split easier, you promised yourself.

His face crumpled with emotion. Orlo swiped at his eyes in frustration, and you grabbed his hands, refusing to let him hurt himself.

“I only ever came here for the money, and now I want out.”

You tried to sound calm, reasonable, hating how sour the words sounded.

“And I want you to stay!”

It was like watching your body in third-person, realising you were on the edge of something huge, watching a terrible accident which you couldn’t tear your eyes away from.

“You could give me money from the treasury, Orlo. Just a little. No one would ever know.”

Guilt burned hot somewhere in the pit of your stomach. You were manipulating him, using him. You knew he’d do it; he’d been unfortunate enough to fall for you. For a beat, you though he might let you go without a fight.

Tears welled in his eyes, and you forced yourself not to reach for him. Not to give him hope.

“You really want to leave me.”

“I want to leave this _place_! Peter will kill me if he realises I’m lying – you know that, surely? Do you want that?”

Part of you knew you couldn’t do this to him, the pure devastation on his face was too much to bear.

“You can stay with me! I have plenty of money. Land, influence, whatever you desire!”

Sweet. It was a sweet offer, from a man blinded by love. Made stupid.

“You forget I’m not a real Lady,” you explained it to him like he was a child, the tear streaks on his cheeks making you ache with guilt. “I can’t.”

“I’ll forge the documents. I’ll get you whatever you want.” His voice broke, your heart with it. “Stay.”

“You can forge the documents to get me money from the treasury, and then I’m leaving.” You were getting choked up, and you hated it. “It’s too dangerous for me here.”

He shook his head, lip trembling, half his face buried into the pillow. His hair was loose and mussed up, and you longed to fix it. To play with it how he liked. God, seeing him cry was too much. You should have stolen away in the night. Not said goodbye.

You shouldn’t have indulged in him.

“You used me.”

It was like he’d knocked the wind out of you.

“No! Not intentionally!” It was a weak argument, and you knew it. “I have no choice. No power here. Can you not see that?”

“I am giving you a choice!”

You jumped at his hand on your shoulder, and wished you’d been able to repress the instinct. He withdrew his touch instantly. Like you’d burned him.

Your lives never should have intersected, a common thief and a soft-hearted aristocrat. It was always a recipe for disaster. Stealing his pocket watch and never speaking to him again: that should have been the plan.

“Orlo–”

He cut you off.

“I felt it would not be safe to tell you, but…” he looked around nervously, as though there might be spies crouching behind his stacks of books and ornate furniture. “we are planning a coup.”

“What?”

“To kill the emperor.”

“Christ, Orlo. He’s a bit of a prick, but that would destabilise Russia itself!”

Through his tears, excitement crept onto his face.

“No. We can replace him with the Empress. She’s brilliant. She’s… ”

You had a soft spot for Catherine yourself, but as the ruler of the country?

“She knows about you,” he admitted.

All you could do was gawk at him, resisting the urge to pack now, run from his bed, from the palace itself.

“What does she know?”

“She knows your predicament. And that I… harbour feelings for you.”

He winced, as though he were afraid to speak the words.

_How could he?_

“When did you tell her?”

How long did you have? Minutes, hours, before you were dragged out to be made an example of?

“Weeks ago,” he grinned. “And she was happy for me.”

Frankly you had wondered if he had a thing for the Empress. Apparently not, given your current situation.

“Will she tell anyone?”

“Never. Perhaps her maid. But she’s in on the coup as well. But, no. No one who would hurt you, I promise.”

His eyes lit up when he spoke about his plans, outshining the tear tracks and wet eyelashes.

“What are you saying?”

“That you don’t have to leave. You can join me. Join us. We can create a new Russia. One where you can stand beside me.”

“Fuck, Orlo. That’s treason.”

“I know.”

He smiled as you said it, and you could suddenly see the scoundrel in him.

You really didn’t know.

“Let me think on it.”

The pair of you went to sleep, aware of the fragility of your promise to consider his offer, both unsure if you’d even see each other in the morning.

You woke late, and alone, the sun well established in the sky. His side of the bed was messy and unmade. Something caught your eye, on a table dragged close to the bed.

A sack of money.

Not just a few Rubles for the road, either. This was more money than you’d seen in your life. He couldn’t have obtained this from the treasury so quickly. It was his money. Orlo was gone, probably aiding the Emperor in a meeting by now, and the doors were open. Your shoes sat by the end of the bed, neatly placed in contrast to how you’d kicked them away yesterday.

You opened the bag, noting a few pieces of gold and valuable gems mixed in with the money. Each were worth a small fortune. A copy of your favourite book of his, which you had joked about coveting. Antique bangles, his family crest in precious gold.

Oh, fuck.

Atop it all sat his beloved, well-worn pocket watch.

It must have been everything of value that he owned, scrabbled together and left for you to take. Everything you’d come here for.

You couldn’t leave him.

With a great feat of willpower, you put everything back in the sack. Everything except for the book, which you opened to read in bed, back propped up against his pillow stacked on your own. He put little, careful dots of ink next to passages he liked, and you stroked them fondly when you spotted them.

It was hard to accept, that you were as smitten as he was. That your heart had gotten the better of you. The words printed on aged pages in front of you were hard to follow, your mind drifting, debating whether your choice was correct.

Would he even still want you? You regretted what you’d said the night before, so overtaken with fear that you hadn’t cared for his feelings. If he wanted you gone, it would take a single word to the guards in the corridor.

Half an hour passed, and you began wondering if Orlo would even be returning during the day. Suddenly yis shoes clacked against the floor outside, the apartments’ doors swinging open. You braced yourself.

This was it. Decision made.

You believed in him, trusted his faith in Catherine, his ability to really, actually pull this off.

When Orlo walked back through the bedroom doors, he sank to his knees.

“You’re staying?” he choked out, eyes subtly darting to check the side table, confirming you had left the valuables.

He wouldn’t even count the coins out. You knew. He’d trust you.

There was no leaving this man. Outside of these walls, your future was unimaginable, obscure, shifting. Money wouldn’t replace what you had here. There was only one thing you could say to him. No apologies, no promises, no demands. You were past all that.

“I love you.”


End file.
